


Apfel

by schwertlilie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Violence, Countries Using Human Names, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Hetalia Kink Meme, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Modern Era, Rape Roleplay, Verbal Humiliation, random German words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 22:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5761594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwertlilie/pseuds/schwertlilie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew asked Gilbert for all of this, but he wasn't prepared for just how scary-arousing Gilbert is in full conquering mode. </p><p>Mind the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apfel

**Author's Note:**

> Title is the safe word "apfel" (apple) because "maple" is too automatic for Matt. You may notice that this isn't mentioned anywhere in the fic.
> 
> Written for the Hetalia Kink Meme, [here](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/12046.html?thread=27045646#t27045646), January 2010, which makes it one of the oldest things on this account and one of my first Hetalia fics.

Matthew knew that he'd asked for this, but that didn't stop the fear when the bathroom door locked and his forehead was smashed into a mirror. He'd told Gilbert to jump him, to not tell him what he had planned, but he hadn't expected it to be this.. intense.

He started to raise a hand to his forehead - the glass was cracked but not broken - but his arms are wrenched backward, wrists fastened together with a zip tie.

"Modern technology is awesome," Gilbert's voice purrs into his ear, all hard edges and razor wire. "So much easier than shackles." Matthew twists, tries to shrug free but Gilbert just lifts his wrists, forces him to choose between bending over the counter and dislocating his shoulders.

He bends over.

"Silly Kanada," Gilbert murmurs, and Matthew tastes gunmetal and mud in the sound. "The more you struggle, the more I'll have to hurt you. You don't want to be hurt, do you?"

He can see Gilbert in the cracked mirror, smile too wide, and eyes too bright, and lashes out with a foot, tries to make an opening to get out away away _away_ -

Gilbert snorts, and side-steps with an ease Matt doesn't particularly want to think about. "I told you, Schlampe." He reaches for his belt, pulls out a switchblade. "This could have gone so much easier..."

Matthew can't look away from knife. Horn-handled, clean but unpolished; a weapon, not a show piece. Gilbert's hand fit it like an old friend, and the smooth flick of his wrist to open it speaks of long practice. The blade skims up his back, over his clothes, until it rests against the soft skin of his neck.

"Last chance: will you give up?"

Gilbert's voice holds such.. such _promise_ that there's no way he can back out now. "Fuck you," he spits. The movement of his throat against the blade edge breaks the skin, and he shivers.

Gilbert chuckles, and Matt can hear the age, the experience and blood and death of a thousand years just waiting for a chance to get at him, and tries to hold himself still. Gil shifts so that his hip holds Matt against the edge of the counter, free hand grabbing Matt's hair and yanking his head to the side to expose the wound. Slowly, deliberately, he lowers his mouth against the cut, and Matt can see every agonising inch in the mirror. By the time Gilbert reaches his neck Matt's panting; a flick of Gil's tongue over the wound makes him whimper, grinding against the counter.

"You're _such_ a little slut. You want me to cut you," lick, "and use you," lick, "and throw you away like the worthless trash you are." Bite.

He arches and moans; Gilbert nuzzles his neck. Not as a sign of affection, but like a predator deciding the next spot to strike.

"Be quiet. This is a public washroom, and I do _not_ want to be disturbed." The knife wanders down Matt's neck, the skin of his arm, pressure just short of making a cut. "If they thought we were here, they'd break down the door. Maybe it'll be your brother. Or Arthur. Do you want them to see you like this, Schlampe?"

"Stop," he gasps, even as Gilbert grinds his hips into Matt's ass.

"No."

He freezes, not expecting such a blunt denial, and Gilbert takes the opportunity to pull him off of the counter and shove him onto his knees. Gil puts down the knife just long enough to undo his belt and push down his pants, freeing his erection, then grabs a fistful of Matt's hair and the blade is back against his skin. "Suck it," he says, cock against Matt's lips. Matt growls, and Gilbert gives him a shake.

"Do it."

The knife slides up to his jaw, digs in; and Matt opens his mouth grudgingly, glaring up at him.

"Oh," Gilbert says off-handedly, "and if you bite me I'll cut yours off." He moves the knife down to Matt's collarbone, uses his grip on Matt's hair to force him down onto Gilbert's cock. Matt thrashes - no _air_ \- and is dimly aware of a pain in his shoulder; and he's pushed back just long enough to gasp a breath before being pulled back down. The knife hand shifts, the thumb sweeping across his skin, and his eyes follow the smear of red as Gilbert raises it to his mouth. A flick of the tongue, tasting; then a long lick, thorough. Matt whines around the cock and Gilbert smirks, twists his wrist to bring up the knife. "Such a slut," he murmurs, "making me do things like this." Then he licks the blade, cleaning off the thin ribbon of blood that clings to the metal.

Matt's breath hitches and he coughs, breaking the rough rhythm before Gilbert forces him back into it. He can't look away from Gilbert's face, and beneath the violence and barbed wire-tinged madness Matt can see control. Precision. Evaluating Matt's reactions and using exactly as much pressure, causing just as much pain, as necessary. And it's more terrifying than anything he's seen in years.

He moans, makes little thrusting motions in search of friction. Gilbert laughs, then pulls Matt's mouth off of his cock. "It almost looks like you're _enjoying_ this. Can't have that, now, can we?" Matthew pants, startled by the sudden availability of beautiful, beautiful air, and lets himself be hauled back up over the counter.

Gilbert slides his hand from Matt's hair to unbutton Matt's jeans with frightening efficiency. He kicks Matt's ankle out, forcing him to broaden his stance, and trades the blade for a new grip on Matt's wrists. Matt feels the brush of cloth against his ass, and his pants and boxers are pulled down, leaving his hips and the tops of his thighs bare. He can almost see Gil's hand in the mirror behind Matt's own body, but not quite visible as he tears a condom package open and rolls it on one-handed.

"Don't want to take a chance," Gilbert murmurs. "Never know what public spaces will have, or dirty sluts like you."

The tension in his back is just short of pain, and he can't get the leverage to stand up. The knife is inches from his face, taunting him. There's no way he can use it without his hands, and he wriggles in frustration; Gilbert just presses him back into the counter, giving him an absent whack on the ass for his trouble.

Matt feels cold liquid slide down his ass crack; bites back a yelp as it hits his balls, still cold. Gilbert notices, laughs, and manoeuvres him into position.

"Stop it, bastard. You have no right-"

"I have every right. While you-"

Matt can't hear the next words, too distracted by Gilbert's cock inching into him. It hurt. A lot. For the love of maple, he's never getting fucked by anything without stretching first ever again. Gilbert moves just this side of too fast, sinking completely into Matt before pulling almost all the way out. He can see Gil's expression in the mirror - teeth too sharp and hair too wild - and shudders, the pain not fading but the feeling of fullness spreading. Gil murmurs something in German, shifts angle, and Matt bites back a yelp when Gil hits his prostate. One hand is on Matt's wrists, one hand on his hip.

"Get off of me-!"

"No. You're mine today, Kanada."

There's a knock at the door, and Gilbert doesn't even pause.

"Mattie? You've been in there a long time."

"He's busy."

"Asshole," Matt manages between gasps.

Alfred's voice comes from the other side of the door. "Open this door right now, or I will break it down."

Gilbert's eyes bore into Matthew's as the hand on his hip moves to reach for Matt's erection, fists it roughly. "Listen to him, Matt. I bet a dirty Schlampe like you _wants_ him to walk in on us, to see you with your pants around your knees and my cock buried in your ass."

"Stop it!"

"Matt?" Alfred sounds worried. "Shit, I'm coming for you." Matt hears sound of shoes tearing off down the hallway.

Gilbert laughs, hard and dark, and fucks Matt a little harder, a little faster. Matt is making choked protests, which Gilbert is ignoring, when Alfred returns, with something long and metal for a battering ram, and Arthur, who's making irritated comments.

Gilbert keeps eye contact with Matt through the mirror as loud bangs start up, stop, are replaced by Arthur and Alfred arguing, and the sound of the door handle jiggling. Matt can't stop the little whines coming from his throat, or the look of triumph on Gilbert's face. He's wound up tight, pain and pleasure tangled with each other until all he wants is the last little bit, but he doesn't know which he needs.

Gilbert's hand tightens, and he murmurs "Come, slut."

And he does, orgasming hard while Gilbert buries himself inside of Matthew, and Arthur swings the door open triumphantly.

The silence is finally broken by Alfred's "What the _fuck_ , Matt?"


End file.
